Slytherin Sleepover in the Hallway
by TwoDramaNerdsInABoat
Summary: When the password to the Slytherin dormitory becomes offensive, many muggleborns decided to protest by having a sleepover in the hallway outside! Cute, OCs, Gen. Just a fun short story.
1. What's A Twinkie?

Alex R.

I was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall when one of my close friends, Lela Ponder, approached me with a sour look on her face. "The password's changed again."

I looked up from my stack of pancakes dripping in syrup and saw her expression, surprised. Her curly hair framed her face perfectly, and with her mocha complexion and dark brown eyes, she would have been beautiful as usual if not for the look she wore that said she wanted to kill whoever had decided the password needed to be changed.

"What do you mean it's changed again?"

"Security breach," shrugged Lela. "They changed it."

I sighed. "Fine. What is it."

"You aren't gonna like it."

"Tell me what it is."

Lela stood up straight and opened up her mouth wide as though she were about to recite to me her times tables (which we apparently don't have to learn at this school.) "Filthy little mudblood scum."

"OH MY DUMBLEDORE THIS IS NOT COOL."

Let's get this straight: I am a muggleborn. A fully fledged, all-the-way, completely and utterly soccer-loving, twinkie-eating muggleborn. I got into Slytherin for my 'cunning and ability to lie about stealing cake.' I quote directly from the Sorting Hat. No lies here, my friend. Even though that _is_ my strong suit. So hearing this from my dear friend Lela- it's just not cool.

"I'll say it for you, if you like." Lela said, her eyes like a doe.

"No," I fumed, "I'm going to protest. And not a wizard protest. A fully fledged, all-the-way, completely and utterly soccer-loving, twinkie-eating, muggleborn protest. I am going to be sleeping in the hallway until this thing changes. Could you grab me a pair of socks, please? I think I'm going to go free some house elves from the kitchens."

Lela P.

Crap.

Crap.

CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP!

I knew that Alex was a proud muggleborn, but I never thought he'd take it this far. I mean, okay. So our common room is basically a dark, dank, musty and damp cellar that no one's cleaned in the last three millennium. But it's not _that_ bad. I mean, there's this large window looking into the lake, and sometimes water leaks in and causes a flood, and when I say sometimes, I mean once or twice every week. Plus, the giant squid tends to press himself against the glass and stare at us hungrily, and when a large hole in the glass appears, he'll stick a tentacle inside the common room and grab the nearest kid. Then he eats them. Their bones generally wash up on shore a few days later, and we have a burial, but no one really cares because it's just another student, and to the school it's only paperwork.

Okay. So our common room sucks. It stinks. Literally. It's dark, and there's a 50% chance of being eaten. But really? No one's ever boycotted secret entrances before. Most people are like, wow, that's so cool! A secret entrance! You don't boycott them. You just don't. This is a new high for Alex. Usually he's like 'ok just get this over with' but this, as you may have heard is a fully-fledged, all-the-way, completely and utterly, soccer-loving, twinkie-eating muggleborn protest.

Alex R.

"Lela? Leeeeeeelaaaaa? Earth to Lela?" God, I hated it when she did this. Sometimes she got all spacey and her eyes went distant, and it could take forever to get her back. Her record is thirty-five minutes and ten seconds. I count. Thankfully, this time it's only eight seconds before she comes back.

"Lela?" I asked, "Lela, did you hear what I said?"

She shook her head, not in the form of an answer to my question, but more in a sense that she was still trying to comprehend what I'd just said. Finally, she looked back at me. "Yes, I heard what you said. I'll get your socks. Only one question about this whole thing."

"Yes?"

"What's a twinkie?"


	2. Setting Up Camp

Lela P.

If you're wondering, yes, I got Alex the socks. I also grabbed him some blankets, a lantern, and a spare change of clothes, as well as an ointment that would cure fungal infections in any of the following body parts: feet, hands, nose, ears, eyes, belly button, and… Places where the sun doesn't shine. Better not to talk about them. Living in the dungeons, we tend to get those types of injuries a lot, but the headmasters never really do anything about it, nor the head of house. No one really cares about us Slytherins. We go unnoticed, until someone decides to become a Death Eater or perform some strange and reverse ritual in the basement.

Everything I got for Alex came from his dorm, which I have easy access to. I passed his muggle posters, unmoving, showing- what had he called the sport? Soccer? Yes, soccer players. He says most blokes call them footballers, but his mum's an American so he grew up saying soccer. One of his roommates was there. Name's Will, I think. Will didn't ask what I was doing. He knows me well enough.

I brought the supplies back out to Alex, who was tapping his foot impatiently in the dimly lit hallway.

"Alex, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Never been so sure of anything in my life, Lela."

"That's what you said when you bet your favorite Morgan Le Fay chocolate frog card and thirty hard-earned galleons that Harry Potter would be killed by dementors last year."

"I'm sure, Lela," He huffed. "Nothing's going to change my mind now."

Alex R.

I quickly set to work putting together a makeshift bed in the hall. The lighting was dim, but it was dimmer in the dorm, so I was easily able to see. Everyone thinks that Slytherins are creepy because we have pale skin and such, but it really isn't our fault if our common room isn't as warm and well-lit as some of the others. I don't get what was up with Salazar Slytherin and the cold, damp, dark ambience.

I shivered. I wished I had a fire, or a nicer blanket, but I wouldn't give in and go back to the common room. Besides, we don't really have a large fire or anything in there. Just the cool, creepy green light cast by the enchanted torches and the sunlight that can still be seen through the depths of the lake. I've heard the Gryffindors have a fire. The Gryffindors always get the nicest things. Then the Ravenclaws, because they're the smart ones, supposedly. Then the Hufflepuffs, who're are seriously overlooked as just the 'nice house' but live near the kitchens and get the best pick of the food. And the Slytherins? We're at the bottom of the food chain, because we're stereotyped as a bunch of You-Know-Who supporters and blood-purity freaks. But I'm a muggle-born. A fully-fledged, all-the-way, completely and utterly soccer-loving twinkie-eating muggle born.

I wished old Salazar could see his house now. A muggle-born accepted into it, of all people

I hate old Salazar as much as Godric Gryffindor did.

But I got into his house anyways.


End file.
